We are the House of Finwe
by Galad Estel
Summary: One day in the intriguing lives of the house of Finwe, told in numerous POVs: Feanor, Fingolfin, Maedhros, Finrod, Galadriel, Aredhel, Finarfin. Now complete.
1. Fingolfin

Fingolfin

Finwe was the name of our father and king. And my brothers and my sisters and our sons and daughters, we are the House of Finwe.

I was so fortunate to have a brother like Feanor. A brother who my father would always love more than me, a brother who was ever more brilliant and charming, a brother who wished I had never been born. As a child I worshipped him, but he always hated me. He called me a usurper. He claimed that I tried to steal his place in my father's heart. If this was so it was only because I was never allowed a place of my own. He hated my mother and my brother as well. We were treated like invaders in our house. The tears that my mother shed at night over this go uncounted, and the pain he inflicted on me with his scorn cannot be expressed in words.

Finarfin did not understand Feanor's hatred. He did not hate anyone. His heart was made only for love. He was kind and he was wise and he was fair. He was content with whatever was given him. Scraps of the glory that could have been his, but he desired neither praise nor power. The blood of my mother's people, the Vanyar, ran strongly in his veins, and he loved and was loved by the Valar.

But I, I was not as content. I strove against Feanor. We were both of great spirit and fire, but his exceeded mine. He burnt with an inner flame unquenchable, his eyes ever roaming and his fingers ever reaching for some new treasure not within his grasp. He married young to a Noldor Elf by the name of Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan, a great smith and a pupil of Aule. With her, he had seven sons: Maedhros the tall, Maglor the great singer, Celegorm the fair, Caranthir the dark, Curufin the skilled, and Amrod and Amras, the twins.

I married Anaire and had two sons and a daughter: Fingon, Turgon, and Aredhel also known as Ar-Finiel, White Lady of the Noldor. And lastly Finarfin married Earwen, swan maiden of Alqualonde, and had four sons and a daughter: Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod, and Artanis, called by her mother Nerwen.


	2. Finwe

Finwe

Miriel walks the paths of my dreams. She gazes at me, pain in her grey eyes. Her lips form words but I cannot hear them. I strain my ears, but the wind is strong and the rain beats down on us hard as we stand within the courtyard of Tuna. I hold out my arms to her, but she shakes her head. Tears stream down disguised as raindrops. I step forward and pull her to my side. She leans her head against my shoulder and sighs. I draw her to me and whisper her name. She speaks, but it is not the commanding tone of Miriel. It was the soft sweetness of Indis. I woke and found her near me.

I forced a smile to hide my guilt and kissed her gently before getting up. My eyes happened upon Miriel's loom that still stood against the wall. I made a mental note to remove it, as I should have done years ago. I should forget about her. It was too painful to remember.

"Feanor is coming back today," Indis said quietly as she brushed out her long, wavy, gold hair. Miriel had had straight silver hair.

"I know," I said looking away. Feanor was so much like his mother. He had her beauty and her spirit and her long skillful fingers.

"So is Aredhel for she is with him and his sons," she added laying her brush aside and straightening the hem of her sapphire blue gown, which matched her beautiful eyes. Miriel's eyes were steel grey.

She must hate me, I thought, to haunt me like this. I had not asked to leave. I loved her, and if she had remained alive I would still have her, if she came back I would go to her, but to endure on alone, it was horrible. And yet…

Indis was staring at me trying to read my face. I quickly straightened it into a smile.

"We shall have a party in celebration of Feanor's return."

"A party?" Indis asked.

"Yes, tonight," I said.

She paced around the room once then turned to me with the slightest suggestion of anger crossing her angelic face.

"You could have told me earlier," she said, "Now we shall have to hurry and get everything prepared in a matter of hours instead of days."

"I am sorry," I said, sad to make her upset, "I did not think of it earlier."

Indis sighed then shrugged it off and pulled a loving smile from nowhere.

"It's all right, do not worry," she said touching my arm, "We will have a test of our skills that is all."

Then she left me to my thoughts and the loom and the ghost of Miriel.


	3. Indis

Indis

Finwe was distant again this morning. I have grown used to ignoring it over the years, but it still hurts. He will never be free from the hold of Miriel. I know this, but yet still I love him, and he loves in a way, and yet I will never have him fully. I know this as I know that we grow wiser with age, as I know that yeast makes bread rise, as I know that when you plant seeds things grow, this I will always know.

Feanor will come today. His father's favorite, bright eyed Feanor. Who while still young rejected Rumil's alphabet and made one of his own. Who creates jewels with a luster that has never been seen before. Ah, Feanor, you are an embodiment of your mother's spirit come to wrest your father from me with your smiles and charm. How can I stand against you when I am welcoming you home? Long have I tried to win you to me, but all is vain. I pursue an unattainable goal.

I slipped through the hall and down the stairs. Anaire and Earwen were already awake talking and laughing together as they kneaded bread for breakfast. I stopped and watched them a moment. They were both happily married to my sons. No shadow fell over their love. I was glad for them, yet I also envied them. Earwen noticed me and smiled pushing a strand of bright silver hair from her fair face. I smiled back and told them what Finwe had said about a party. They did not seem troubled at all. We set to it at once.


	4. Feanor

Feanor

I awoke to singing. I lifted my head and saw Maglor sitting by a brook partially hidden by the morning mist singing to himself lost in thought. I looked around and saw that my other sons were still asleep. Maedhros lay beside me, his red hair and pale skin glistening with dew. I smiled down at him a moment thinking of Nerdanel and how I was going to see her that day. Celegorm lay to my other side, his hound Huan curled up at his feet, his bow was by his hand. Celegorm was a hunter and was considered by many to be the handsomest of my seven sons. Curufin lay beyond him. His fingers moved even in his sleep as mine often do. He was in many ways the most like me. He is a smith as his son Celebrimbor who is now nearly grown to manhood. Caranthir lies apart from us. He is what some call a loner. Stays mainly to himself and has a harsh temperament but is as loyal as a hound. Then there are my youngest, the twins, who call each other Ambarussa, much to my annoyance, they each have a name but they will not use them. They lay huddled together near Maedhros. They also had their mother's red hair. I couldn't help but smile as I looked at them. All of them were mine.

Aredhel was already a stir moving aimlessly about the camp, eager to be again on the move, her long black hair contrasting dramatically with her pale skin and her white attire. I watched her in silence wondering why she was Fingolfin's daughter and not my own. Ah, what I would give for a daughter like her, so tall, so strong, so free spirited. I had seven handsome, intelligent sons who would gladly have her as their bride, but she had no interest in marriage. Her heart belonged to none. I could not quite understand it, but I let it pass by, most of the time.

"Good morning, Aredhel," I said.

"Good morning, uncle," she said cheerfully picking up a stone and examining it for a moment before setting it back down again, "Shall we be going soon?"

"After breakfast," I laughed.

"Maglor and I already ate," she said quickly, "your breakfast is over there." pointing to a cloth laid with bread and fruit, "Shall I wake the others?"

I nodded my consent and she set eagerly to the task waking each one in turn with a pleasant "good morning" and a quick shake of the shoulders. Afterwards she turned to me.

"Would you mind if I rode a little ahead of you?" she asked, "I see something of interest just beyond those hills."

"Do as you wish," I answered, knowing she would not be content till her curiosity was appeased.

I watched as she leaped with certainty and grace upon her horse and rode off alone. I turned to find that Celegorm had risen and was watching her also, but he turned and sat down on the grass to eat. Curufin was by his side now looking thoughtful as he slowly ate his breakfast.

"What is it you are thinking of, my son?" I asked.

He merely shrugged and looked over at Maglor who had suddenly stopped singing. I looked round for Caranthir and found his eating alone. I finished my breakfast and waited for my sons to be done eating, before I gave the order to set out again. We quickly caught up with Aredhel who had stopped to climb a tree. She came down and reported that as far as she could see there was nothing of interest to hunt then remounted her horse. Celegorm sighed heavily, and we rode of towards Tirion.


	5. Fingon

Fingon

Tirion on the hill of Tuna was my home, a high white palace with many towers. My grandfather, Finwe, was king of the Noldor and my father Fingolfin was a prince, as was I. My father and my uncle Finarfin had always been close and their wives were friends so it was no wonder that my brothers and I were as close as brothers to the sons of Finarfin. What would seem odd was that my closest friend was Maedhros, son of Feanor, my father's half brother who hated us. I loved Feanor little, growing up I could sense the tension between my father and him, and though I was always civil to him I was also cold. How could I love a man who had so long put grief into my father's heart? Yet with Maedhros I felt a bond that would never break. Our spirits were well matched, our minds congenial. We were both eldest sons, and the head of our group, with them we felt responsibility, but when there was but him and I alone we could be ourselves. We challenged each other or just let time pass as we discussed matters of little importance. It mattered little; he was my friend and just being with him made the event worthwhile.

These were my thoughts as I picked berries for the evening party to welcome home Feanor and his sons. I wondered what stories Maedhros would have to tell me, and what had happened of late in Tuna that would interest him. I sat there a moment; I was picking the low berries, trying to remember all that had happened since I had last seen him. A flowing sweep of memories carried me into a reverie. I did not notice when my brother came up from behind.

"Fingon," Turgon said impatiently, "What is taking you so long? Surely you have gathered enough by now."

I looked down at my basket, which was filled to the brim with small, juicy, scarlet fruit and nodded.

"Yes, Turgon, I was just about to go," I said rising to my feet.

"Good," he said, "Because we need you in the kitchen."

"I thought my mother said the kitchen was too crowded as it is…"

"Never mind what she said then, it's what she says now that counts. You ought to hurry before she sends someone else to fetch us both."

I nodded and we both hurried as fast as we could without spilling the berries back to the palace. My mother was not one to annoy and undoubtedly this party was important, otherwise she would have put servants in charge of the preparations. We made it to the kitchen just in time to hear:

"What could be taking them so long?"

"We are here, mother," I said quickly.

She turned and briefly inspected the berries then laid them aside.

"You said you needed help in the kitchen?" I said quickly.

"No," she said shaking his head, "I have Finrod and Orodreth now. What I want you to do is find Nerwen."

"Where is she?" I asked.

My mother looked at me as if she thought I was the dullest Elf on Aman.

"If I knew I would not ask you to find her."

"Do you have any suggestion?"

"No."

I looked over at Turgon for help but he had busied himself helping Finrod with a pudding. I sighed and left. Where could she be?

I passed by Angrod and Aegnor who were talking, laughing, and maybe sweeping the floor.

"Have you seen Nerwen?" I asked.

"Not since last night," said Angrod, "Why is something the matter?"

"She seems to have disappeared," I said, "Could you tell me where she might be?"

"Hiding," suggested Aegnor grinning.

Angrod glared at him as if he thought this matter should not be taken lightly.

"Look everywhere, but pay special attention to the house of Aule, the palace of Alqualonde, and the gardens of Lorien."

"Thank you," I said.

I decided to take a horse. If no one had seen her since last night she could be anywhere. I asked of her first in the city, but no one had seen her so I passed on. Aule did not know where she was. Lorien had not seen her, and neither had Olwe. I sighed and turned back towards home. If she were hiding, I would not have hope of finding her. I thought briefly of asking Manwe's help in finding her, but decided against it.

While I was riding thus back to Tirion I happened to glance to the side and saw not far off Nerwen who I sought walking with someone I did not know. And for a moment I stopped and stared at the two of them. Then I dismounted and walked towards them. They sensed my presence and turned to meet me.

"Good day," I said.

"Good day," said the tall figure at Nerwen's side, and I recognized him to be Olorin.

"Good day," said Nerwen sulkily.

"I was sent to fetch you," I said.

"So I surmised," she answered, "But I do not wish to be fetched."

"Then you should have come on your own accord."

"I wish to stay here and talk to Olorin," she said, "Tell my mother that I will be home tomorrow."

"She wants you home tonight," I snapped, "You will be missed at the party."

"Then let them miss me," she said, "Though I doubt they will. I am but the youngest child of the youngest son of Finwe, I doubt my presence tonight will be of any great importance."

I was about to make some cleverer remark when Olorin stood between us.

"Artanis," he said gravely, "You never told me you were wanted at home."

"It must have slipped my mind," she said hiding a sly smile, "What you were telling me about was so interesting."

"I do not like being used like this," Olorin said and looked sadly at her.

"I did not think of it as that," Nerwen said and took his arm, "I would rather be with you then Feanor."

"But he is your uncle," Olorin said.

"Half uncle," she pointed out.

I sighed.

"Come on, Nerwen, don't trouble Olorin. He has more important things than to deal with runaways. Thank you for putting up with her."

"No, no," said Olorin with a smile, "It is she who puts up with my constant prattle."

Again I sighed.

"Well, it wasn't you who had to run over Valinor looking for some ungrateful…"

"I am sorry," said Nerwen.

I shook my head.

"But I will not go back," she ended obstinately.

"You will go back," I said and grabbed her arm.

"Patience," said Olorin, "Be still."

He pushed us apart and examined our faces closely. Finally he spoke.

"Artanis, you will go back with Fingon. There your parents will decide if you have to attend this celebration. Why is that you dislike Feanor so much?"

"He hates my father and he scared me," Nerwen replied.

"He doesn't hate your father. He just doesn't like him. And he frightened you when you were a child, but that was years ago. You have been avoiding him for years. Don't you think he deserves another chance? Who knows what changes time might bring."

Nerwen shook her head but assented to return with me.


	6. Finarfin

Finarfin

Feanor was returning home from his roaming, and in my heart I felt both joy and sorrow. Joy for my father who was elated by the thought of seeing his first born after so great a time of separation. Often I wondered if Feanor knew how great his father loved him and that his long absences caused him pain. Fingolfin believes he does it merely to heighten my father's adoration, but of this I am doubtful. Feanor has no need to be conniving; he is father's favorite and always will be, of this I am sure.

Sorrow I feel for my mother. All day she has seemed distant and sad. I wish I could comfort her, but she will not be comforted. Things must be done before the evening. Tirion must look perfect, so Feanor may have no reason for complaint or scorn.

I wish Feanor were not so cold to us. I wish he and Fingolfin would not fight. Why cannot we live in peace like the rest of Valinor?

Everything has been prepared, now we only must prepare ourselves for the mightiest of all Elves, Feanor, my half brother.


	7. Nerdanel

Nerdanel

All day I have felt it, the growing tension that binds the very air. Inside it devours me. What shall I say to him? The last conversation we had was a quarrel, and he had left before it was done, but I did not wish to quarrel with him. I sighed.

Anaire walked in quietly.

"He's here," she whispered.

I felt my heart leap. I tried to calm myself, but found I could not. I thanked Anaire who bowed her head in return. I ran my comb once more through my hair, dropped it, and then hurried outside. I was greeted first by Maedhros, my eldest who bent to kiss me. Then Ambarussa darted in with their tight embraces, while keeping up a stream of chatter that a squirrel would envy. Celegorm gently brushed them aside to greet me as well. Curufin came next. Caranthir came last, kissed me quickly, and then walked on. Feanor sent them on ahead of him into the palace then turned to me, a smile playing on his lips.

"Nerdanel," he said touching my hair playfully.

"Feanor," I said quietly.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I closed my eyes and felt his fingers caress me. I opened my eyes and stared into his.

"Promise me something," I said.

"What?"

"You will try to be nice to Indis and her sons tonight?"

Feanor frowned.

"That depends on Fingolfin."

"No," I said shaking my head, "Do not let it matter what he says. You are older than he, let it depend on you."

"Is that your only request, that I try to be nice to Fingolfin?"

"Yes," I said, "And to Indis and Finarfin."

"Why should they be any concern of yours?"

I sighed heavily.

"Please, Feanor, it would be of more value to me than all the jewels in Aman."

Then he smiled.

"Then your request I shall grant. No evil shall I speak to Indis or her sons—tonight."

With that he left me, and I sighed.


	8. Maglor

Maglor

Violet shadows crept across the gardens of Tirion. A cool breeze lifted my hair and I sighed deeply caught within the peace of the moment. I heard nightingales and smelt roses. I lay down on the soft green grass and idly ran my fingers through the blades.

"Maglor?"

I looked up. It was Orodreth.

"Is not it beautiful?" I said.

"Is always beautiful here," said Orodreth, "As is all Valinor."

"Yes," I answered, "but it not always so easy to enjoy it."

Orodreth looked at me with concern. I gave him a reassuring smile, and he sat down beside me.

"Why do you talk with me?" I asked.

"Why shouldn't I?"

I paused and half consciously picked a blade of grass, which I cradled carelessly in my left hand.

"Your grandmother is Indis the Fair."

"And yours is Miriel called Serinde the skilled, but I see not why we must quarrel about it. We had no part in what happened."

"Yet someday it may matter," I said casting the blade aside, "It may matter greatly."

Orodreth looked puzzled by this then said softly:

"Do you hate me?"

I looked at him. His lithe body was robed in milky white and his pale hair fell over his slender shoulders and fair face. He was Indis and not only in face or figure. His heart was that of her race the Vanyar, kind and gentle with little will of its own.

"I do not hate you," I said.


	9. Earwen

Earwen

"How did you get your hair so tangled?"

I was performing the difficult task of putting my daughter's hair in order.

Nerwen remained silent her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her.

"Nerwen?"

"I don't know."

"Is there something wrong?"

"I do not know why I must be here tonight," the girl lamented.

I drew her close and kissed her cheek and temple.

"My daughter, there are many things in life that will be hard to understand. This is but one of them. If you are not present tonight, Feanor may not look at it kindly."

"Why? I have been absent many times from such events."

I stopped, thinking back over the years. It was true, too true.

"You have been avoiding him," I stated.

She was silent.

"Last time you were Alqualonde and before that it was some lesson of Yavanna's."

She did not speak. I put my comb down.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why is what Feanor thinks so important?" she countered.

"Nerwen," I scolded, then after a pause I told her, "Feanor is the eldest son of Finwe, the next in line to the crown."

"But no one dies on Valinor," Nerwen said turning to me.

"I know, but he still holds great power. He has his father in his hand."

"Why? I do not understand."

I didn't feel like answering so I in turn answered with a question.

"Why do you avoid him? What do you fear?"

She was silent, then at a half a whisper she answered.

"I do not know. There is something different about him, something that troubles me."

"What troubles you?"

It was Nerdanel. Anaire was also there.

"If it is Feanor," she said kindly, "than do not worry. He has promised to be good tonight."

"You speak as you were his mother," I said smiling, glad of the news.

Nerdanel frowned.

"I suppose in some ways I must be."

"Ah," said Anaire, "But it is only because you are wiser than he."

"Sometimes, sometimes," she said looking out the window at the courtyard below, "I wish I were not."

Anaire and I exchanged glances.

"Are you done with my hair yet?" asked Nerwen, eager to be gone.

"No," I said with a shake of my head, "It still needs more work."

"May I?" asked Nerdanel turning back to us suddenly.

"What?" I asked.

She blushed, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

"May I brush your daughter's hair?" she asked.

"If you want to," I said surprised.

I got up and Nerdanel took my place. Anaire and I exchanged bewildered looks.

"I do not have a daughter," Nerdanel said as she gently parted Nerwen's hair.

"Ah," I said, "Nerwen is hardly what you would call a daughter."

"What do you mean?" Nerdanel asked, "She is beautiful. I have never seen a more lovely maiden."

"Ah, yes," I said, "But you do not know her. What a terror she can be. She has both the height and the strength of a man and can wrestle down nearly everyone."

"And probably has," Anaire put in with a laugh.

"We have tried our best to raise her as a princess and a lady."

"But to no avail."

"I suppose it does not help that she has four brothers and two male cousins who might as well be brothers."

"No, and neither does your name for her—man-maiden."

"I suppose not, but it did not cause this, it merely explains it."

"It may encourage it," Anaire said.

Nerdanel was not listening. Her thoughts seemed elsewhere

"Your hair is beautiful," Nerdanel told Nerwen half consciously.

"Thank you," Nerwen answered quietly.

"Yes," said Anaire, "That we can all agree on. Her hair is the most beautiful I have ever seen. Some say that the light of Laurelin and Telperion was ensnared in her tresses."

"I see why," Nerdanel said softly. She laid the comb aside and stood up.

"May I go now?" Nerwen asked.

"Where would you go?" I asked.

"To see my brothers," she said.

"Nay, Nerwen, for they are readying themselves as well," I said, "And they will not wish to be disturbed."

"Might not I help them get ready?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I glanced at Anaire for help, but she happened to be looking the other way at the time. Nerdanel caught my glance but said nothing.

"I have two very good reasons. One—you are no longer a child, you are becoming a woman and your brothers, though they are your brothers, are men; and two—I have something for you to try on."

"What?" Nerwen asked suddenly interested.

I smiled and handed her a parcel. With eager but steady fingers she unwrapped it and pulled out an ankle length sky blue gown. It was something I had been working on for weeks, the dye itself being hard to come by.

"Thank you," Nerwen said holding the gown out in front of her.

"Try it on," I said.

She quickly did so and danced in front of us showing it off.

We smiled.

"May I show it to father?"

"Most certainly, darling," I said.

She drifted away down the corridor. I watched her until she was out of sight suddenly wondering what would become of my Nerwen.


	10. Maedhros

Maedhros

On returning to Tirion I greeted my mother first. She held me against her briefly as I bent to kiss her cheek. She was worried about the evening, about father and his brothers. I could sense it. I was worried too, but it was she who would speak to father of this, for she was Nerdanel, Nerdanel the Wise, the only one who Feanor listened to. Only she could convince him to control himself, not to yield to his fire. Ah, my mother was strong—strong in will and strong in body. She was a smith and a sculptor.

My mother was not considered the loveliest of women, but I loved her. I loved her ruddy complexion and her red hair. I loved her voice, the first one I ever heard. I loved her eyes—grey and piercing.

I loved my father also, and I hoped desperately that they would not quarrel tonight, that my father would see the sense in reconciling with Fingolfin.

I wondered with seeming aimlessness through the palace. It was a pretense though; I was actually looking for Fingon, Fingolfin's elder son. It did not take me long to find him. He had apparently been looking for me too for his eyes lit up when he saw me and he drew me aside into a room, from there we crept out the window and ran laughing inwardly away from the palace and into a nearby glen. There we burst into fits of giggles as if we were two youngsters who had gotten away with stealing cakes instead of the proud Elven princes we were known to be. I climbed a tree and looked about to see if anyone had spotted us, but no one was about. I dropped down and looked back at Fingon. The smile had left his face and he was again looking grave.

"What's wrong?" I asked sitting down beside him.

"I do not know," he said, "I just have a feeling that something bad might happen tonight."

"Like what?"

"Like your father and my father might get into another fight."

I sighed.

"We should not have to worry about that," I said, "That's their problem, not ours."

"It seems to have grown into everyone's problem."

"My mother is going to talk to him about it."

"Did she say so?"

"No, but I know she will, so don't worry so much."

Fingon forced a smile. He threw off his slippers and dipped his feet into a nearby stream. I did the same and we just sat there quietly listening to the night birds sing in the trees above us.

"Sometimes," I said, "I wish we could just run away."

Fingon nodded.

"I know what you mean."

"Why don't we?"

"We belong where we were placed," Fingon answered sensibly, "with our families."

"Just for a little while," I urged, "Tonight?"

Fingon shook his head.

"No," he said, "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because if I did, I would be a hypocrite," he said splashing the water with his foot.

"How so?"

"I just gave Artanis a lecture today on how it was important for her to be at the party, and how more so for us—the two eldest sons of Feanor and Fingolfin."

"That's too bad," I muttered.

"Hmmm."

"So how is our fair Artanis?"

"She is doing well."

"Has she grown much since I last saw her?"

"Much?" Fingon asked with a laugh, "She has grown up. She is as tall as I am."

"That I don't believe," I answered crossing my arms.

"Believe it or not, it is true."

"But when I last saw her she was a feisty little golden headed child hardly higher than my knee."

"Well," said Fingon with a smile, "Your feisty little golden headed child has grown into a feisty golden headed maiden in your absence, and if you had stayed any longer she might have gone on to be quite a lady."

"You jest," I said.

"Nay, cousin, it is true."

I sighed.

"We have been gone awhile haven't we?"

He nodded.

I sighed and put my slippers back on. I looked with longing eyes across the green hills and valleys of Valinor. Fingon looked back towards the palace.

"Must we?" I asked.

He nodded reluctantly.

"But we are always so boring. We never do anything wrong."

He stood firm.

"We could climb a mountain or follow stream or…"

"We can do all those things—tomorrow."

I sighed and would have protested except that just then our mothers called us home.


	11. Curufin

Curufin

Lips and ears and eyes and noses and hands and feet and shoulders and arms—nothing escaped my notice. I was standing near the throne room waiting for my father to call us in and having nothing better to do I was inspecting my kin and making them feel very nervous whiles at it—delightful. Fingolfin looked as ever duller in appearance than my father. Whereas my father's hair is glossy black his is more of a very dark brown. Also his nose and cheekbones do not have quite the same sort of fineness to them. Finarfin, as ever, looks like his mother Indis, pretty enough I suppose, but lacking in those features that would suggest strength of any sort. His sons—Finrod and Orodreth—were much the same, though Finrod does have firmer lip and a hint of determination in his chin. Angrod and Aegnor fortunately had more spirit in their features. In fact, Angrod was glaring at me—or, at least, I think that is what he is trying to do, without catching his father's attention. Fingon is as ever fine to behold: tall (but not as tall as my brother Maedhros) and with strong arms and legs. Turgon doubtless spent more time at home then his brother. He bore more the face of a scholar. He was also quite tall.

I gave my brothers a quick glance over just to make sure that they looked more magnificent than my cousins, which, of course, they did. Then my turned my ever critical eye on the women assembled. My wife unfortunately was not here. She was off with her mother's people. My son was present though, of which I was glad. He was looking rather stupidly off at a corner where my cousin Artanis was standing hidden by shadows, where she was sulking for some unknown reason. I shook his shoulder and he quickly turned away.

My mother and two aunts were standing side by side, so I had the opportunity to compare them with ease. Earwen, swan maiden of Alqualonde, had both a fair of face and a beautiful body. Her long white neck was strung with pearls and bracelets of pearls were around the wrists of her long white arms. Her sea green and white gown clung to her torso and then wisped out at the bottom like foam. She looked as if she were made from porcelain, if you held her close she would probably break. It is fortunate for her that she wedded some one as soft as Finarfin.

Anaire had an intelligent looking face framed with dark hair. Her eyes were a strange green grey and her lips had an odd way of forming a nearly perfect line when she was being stared at intensely. She was wearing a dark blue dress and a single string of fiery opals about her neck.

My mother was like a flame with her auburn hair, rosy complexion, and red lips. Only her eyes were cool like pools of still, grey water. She was clad in evergreen and about her neck was a necklace of great brilliance—flowers carved from jewels with gold and emerald leaves (my father's creation, of course).

Aredhel was wearing a white gown formed from many layers of gossamer cloth and caught at the waist by a silver sash. Diamonds danced around her white neck and a wreath of white roses stood out against her dark hair.

Elenwe, wife of Turgon, had sad eyes but a warm smile. She wore a long flowing lavender gown and had lilacs in her golden hair. Her young daughter Idril stood close beside her and looked around with sparkling dark blue eyes filled with curiosity.

Artanis I could not see well for she was hidden in shadow and was behind two of her brothers now. Then we were called in.

My father clothed in scarlet gently took my mother's arm, and they led our procession. Maedhros was next, followed by Maglor, then Celegorm,then Caranthir, then me, then the twins, and after us were Fingolfin and Anaire and their sons, and lastly Finarfin's family.


	12. Galadriel

Galadriel

All eyes were drawn to the front of the chamber, for there stood Feanor arrayed in blazing scarlet calling to us to look, and we obeyed. In his hand he held what looked like a lantern. It had no opening but a fire burnt inside. A flame trapped forever in a crystal shell. I was too far away to ask to touch it, but I could see it well. He called it a lamp. When asked how he had made, how it worked, he merely smiled, a soft, enigmatic smile. I stood a long while just looking at it, feeling a strange sort of pity for the flame. It was trapped, trapped like me, never able to become more than it was, ever but a marvel to stare at and perform a task set forth by others.

Now Feanor put down the lamp upon a nearby end table and graciously told us that we were all to receive one, one of these Feanorian lamps. He stood aside then and let his father embrace each of his seven sons. Tall and lordly were the sons of Feanor, and Maedhros, his eldest, especially so. His face had the mark of majesty and his body was shapely and of great stature. Yet, as I look over the heads of my kin I see that Turgon surpasses him in height, and for some reason that makes me smile. I suppose it must be because he is Finrod's closest friend and Finrod is my closest brother.

Ah, Finrod, he was unhappy. I could sense it. I could hear him thinking. He was just waiting to leave. He would stay through the ceremony, and then leave quietly sometime after. Perhaps, I mused he will find Amarie and they will walk together far from here, walk all night or settle somewhere quiet were they can talk and, or kiss. I wondered if I would ever fall in love. If then I would go on and on for hours about how my lover is the perfect, most beautiful creature that walks the earth and drive Finrod to utter boredom like he did me. I smiled and thought back to when we were both young, and how we had planned our lives out. How we would raise our families together like our parents had done before us.

Finwe had finished lavishing praise on the children of his firstborn and had know turned his eyes on Fingolfin, his second.

"My king," said Fingolfin bowing his head.

Finwe gave some small acknowledgement, as Feanor stared straight at the two of them, watching their every move, and suddenly I feel my heart grow heavy as an unbidden memory leaps into my mind.

I am a child, standing behind rows of brothers and cousins, when suddenly growing impatient eager to set eyes on my grandfather I run past them and fling myself into his arms. I stay there one glorious moment, my eyes closed, and then I open them, and there is Feanor at his side staring darkly at me. I tremble, and Finwe puts me down. I do not understand. Olwe, my other grandfather, had always been so open, so warm to me. I felt the tears come to my eyes but I did not cry. Even then I was too proud to cry. Finrod came forward and led me back, his hand on my shoulder his head bent in submission or shame.

I felt my cheeks burn, but I held my head high. I walked with determination and with pride, one foot before the other slowly making my way through the chamber. Fingon now stood before the king. He bowed and passed to the side, as did his brother Turgon after him, but Indis lifted Idril upon her lap and held her to her. Aredhel walked by Finwe with a slight inclination of her head, and so it came at last to our family.

My father bowed low in greeting. I cringed at it. I knew that he did not care that he held no high position, that rank meant nothing to him, and yet since he did not feel it I felt it even stronger for him, as I believe did Finrod, and for this in mock humility he knelt.

I could feel a silent gasp hang over the air. It past as Orodreth came forward and did the same, in utmost sincerity. Angrod and Aegnor also knelt so they would not break the chain but with some indignation. And I was left. I stood there a moment uncertain. I did not wish to kneel before Feanor who stood there by Finwe side though he had glanced away when Aegnor had come forth as if he was bored of the whole thing. If I had to kneel, it would be an act, and so it was. With full drama I stepped forward and then fell to my knees, and threw my head upon the ground before Finwe's feet. There was a silence in the room, and for an instant I thought that they had all left or that they had all fallen dead about me, but I sensed them still. I did not dare raise my head. I felt suddenly very foolish and childish and wanted to drag myself away.

"Rise, lady," said a voice above me.

I lifted my head; my thick hair fell across my face hiding by madly blushing cheeks. A hand was offered to me and I took it. Feanor gently brushed the hair from my face and smiled. I forced a smile and tried to calm myself. I took a step back, but his fingers had awkwardly caught in my hair. He slowly and carefully untwisted them. We each inclined our heads in a parting gesture, and I walked delicately back over to my father.


	13. Huan

I just wanted to do something different. I know that Huan is a dog and is not technically part of the House of Finwe, but…

Huan

I am a wolfhound of proud bearing—tall, strong, dedicated, intelligent, brave, and, as Celegorm is always insisting upon, very handsome. I am at the moment at his side watching the room with my huge, dark eyes. Feanor has just helped Nerwen to her feet, which I believe was very kind of him. She had put herself in rather a spot, though she was only following Finrod's lead. Ah, well, sometimes Elves can be so immature. I cannot see why they cannot just get along.

Celegorm is stroking my head rather absently right now. I wonder what he is thinking about. Aredhel is walking towards us. The wreath of white roses is slipping to the side of her head and threatens to fall. Celegorm reaches over and readjusts it. She smiles and thanks him, handing him a glass of wine. He takes it with a slight bow of the head. She leans against the wall and starts chatting with him and Caranthir and Maglor, a light hearted sparkle in her beautiful grey eyes. She speaks quickly, her voice lively and carefree, and they listen and add comments in their deeper and more solemn tones.

This continues on for a while. I am frightfully bored, but not wanting to seem rude I settle down at Celegorm's feet. Idril, who for the last few minutes, has been settled on Indis' lap, now leaves it and races over to me.

"Huan!" she exclaims happily and throws her arms around my neck, which is rather uncomfortable. I know however that she is a sweet girl so I do not protest. Celegorm looks down a little concerned. She lets go off me and starts stroking my ears. I wag my tail approvingly. I would much rather be petted than strangled. Celegorm turns his attention back to Aredhel, who has paused momentarily to catch her breath. Turgon walks over to reclaim his daughter, Finrod close by his side, as they had been talking. Idril holds out her arms to her father and laughs with delight when he scoops her up. He carries her over to a table and gives her a plate of something to eat.

I know that if I go over there she is bound to drop something for me, and Tirion has always had some of the best food on Valinor. Yet I am hesitant to leave my master even though he is preoccupied.

"Huan," Idril whispers. I look again in her direction. She is holding something in her hand. Curious as to what it might I trot over there. She opens her hands and gives me a piece of fluffy white bread, which I gratefully accept. She laughs as she watches me eat, and I look at her in bewilderment, not understanding the joke. She pats me on the head, as if I were some sort of child, and then goes back to eating. I glance back at Celegorm who is still talking to Aredhel. I decide to study this small creature more closely and settle down by her chair. She is delighted and every now and then offers me a present of some sort or other. She is always laughing. She has a nice laugh.

Celegorm comes walking over to me, Aredhel at his side, and Caranthir close behind her.

"Huan," he scolds gently, "Have you been begging?"

Hurt I look up at him, wondering what put that horrible idea in his mind.

"You need not look so indignant, Huan," Celegorm says smiling.

_Needn't I? And why not? I have just as much right to look indignant as you would. _

But Celegorm is not paying attention. He is filling a plate of food. He places it down near me.

"Here," he says gently, "Eat."

I lick his hand in thanks.

"I am going to go find Curufin, now," he tells Aredhel and me, "But I will be back shortly. Enjoy dinner."

Aredhel nods and sits down near Idril. I turn to my dinner, which was very good but all too short. After I have licked the plate clean I settle down at Aredhel's feet.

"Hello, Huan," Aredhel says softly. I get up and place my head on her lap. She laughs lightly and strokes my head with her long white fingers. I close my eyes and just take it in. Aredhel knows how to give the best head massages. Shame that they are limited to me. I think that perhaps Celegorm would enjoy them, oh, well sometimes there are sweet advantages to being a hound. I smile up at her happily.


	14. Turgon

Turgon

Maglor's voice is as sweet and as strong as the wine that touches my lips and runs down my throat, and the music of Finrod's harp is soft and silvery like light rain on roses. The skirts of the ladies' dresses and the lords' robes sweep the lustrous marble floor in step with the music. My head is light with wine and my fingers tremble. Elenwe touches my hand. I smile down at her, and draw her to my side. We dance across the room. I lead, and she pursues swiftly, her eyes laughing as she tries to kiss me, but I manage to pull away just in time. Finally she closes me in a corner and I allow her to kiss me, kissing her back passionately, but all too soon we must return to our place in the circle. My father has his hand gently on my mother's waist as they half walk, half dance across the floor. No one can put off long the spell of the song. It runs through us and by it we are made glad. Even Feanor seems to be enjoying himself as he twirls the Lady Nerdanel across the floor. He stops by us for a moment and gives Elenwe one of his most charming smiles.

"I have not asked you yet, what do you think of my lamps?" he asks fixing his eyes on her.

"They are beautiful, but how will you ever make anything to out do them?" she asks with a mischievous sparkle in her indigo eyes.

"Oh, do not worry yourself about that," he says his smile widening, "I will think of something."

"I see," Elenwe says, "You have some idea already then?"

Feanor's eyes shine brightly, but he goes off to see his father without another word, leaving us as always to ponder what goes on in his great mind. It is part of his allure, this mystery he carries about him. He does not need it. He could do without it. He is already tall and handsome with perfect cheekbones, a glowing complexion, and bright beautiful eyes. He is talented and charming, outdoing everything my father does and holding him in scorn. Why must he be so perfect? All my life he has been there like some majestic statue casting a shadow over us, stealing the joy from our lives. Well, at least, there are some things he can never take from me. I wrap my arms rather possessively around Elenwe. She smiles up at me and kisses me, then leans her head back against my shoulder.


	15. Feanor 2

Feanor

Atar was hurt by my scorn of Indis. I knew this well, but how I hated her. Standing there were my mother should have been, tall and gold and lovely, a treasure to be held dear, my father's second bride. She smiled uncertainly as I approached them. Her hair was long, tumbling down over her shoulders and past her slender waist. Flowers were entwined in it, lots of lovely flowers: violets and daffodils and water lilies, forget-me-nots and roses, lilacs and lupines. The air about her was filled with the scent. Her skin was light with a golden glow. Her eyes were deep and dark and blue. Her mouth was soft like the petals of a rose. Her voice was soft and cool.

"Welcome home, Feanor son of Finwe, for you are ever welcome here," she said with a bow of her head.

I bowed my head but said nothing. Atar stepped forward and embraced me, holding me as if nothing in the world could tear us a part. How I loved him.

"You should not stay so long from Tirion," he scolded kindly. I nodded.

He let go of me and looked at me and smiled.

"You are still the same," he said fondly.

"How would you think I had changed?" I asked with a laugh.

But my father merely shook his head.

"We have missed you," he said.

"Perhaps you have, but I doubt others feel the same," I said casting a cold glance over at my stepmother. She said nothing but her fingers twisted nervously in front of her.

Atar pretended not to notice. Instead he handed me a delicately carved crystal goblet filled to the top with sweet white mead. I took a sip.

"How do you like it?" my father asked.

"It is rather new isn't it?"

"Yes, it was just pressed yester eve, but do you think this batch will be as fine as the last one?"

I tasted it again, swishing the wine once about before swallowing.

"Yes, Atar, I believe so, though as you know I have always had a preference for red wine."

My father shook his head.

"Not always, Feanor," he said with a soft laugh, "as a child, you thought it too strong."

"That does not count, I was a child."

"It was you who said always."

We both fell silent. We slid together into memories of the past, before Indis came and claimed my father's heart. When there had been but my father and me and my mother, who had lain as one asleep in the gardens of Lorien, but now Miriel would never return, and Indis had taken her place. She was the one person who brought him out of his misery, his endless grieving. It was the one thing I had failed at, the one thing I truly wanted to do. I just could not heal his aching heart.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by a realization. Nerdanel was no longer at my side. I turned to look about me and found that she was too far away talking with kindness to Indis. Did the whole world side with her? I cried internally, but I said nothing. I turned back to my father.

"Ada?" I said.

He blinked and smiled at me.

"Ah, Feanor, I have just thought of something I wished to give you. Here, you must sit right here," he said pulling up a chair, "and wait. I shall try not to take too long."

I obeyed, rather confused by what he might have to give me. I gazed around me trying to find my seven sons. Maedhros was with his Fingolfin's eldest son Fingon. They were whispering to each other in one corner of the room. Maglor was still singing, softly now, and Finrod's harp was hardly to be heard amid the countless voices in the room. Curufin and Celegorm were chatting casually with Aredhel over strawberries and cream. Caranthir and Ambarussa were eating and talking amongst themselves. Nerdanel had left Indis and was now talking to Earwen about something or other. I drained my goblet of wine and set it down on the table before me. I then leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes concentrating on the words of my son's song. I was disturbed by another's sudden presence beside me.

I opened my eyes to find Finarfin sitting there, a smile playing on his Vanyar lips. He was the second son of Indis the Fair.

"What do you want?" I asked rather crossly.

Finarfin smiled, glad that someone had started a conversation between us.

"I wish to bid welcome to the great Feanor, our king's son, and my half brother," he said, his voice as soft and warm as fresh baked bread.

"Well, you have," I replied curtly not really feeling in the mood to talk with Finarfin, but he was relentless.

"Yes, and I am so glad of it. Atar speaks so much of you. It brings him sorrow that you are so often absent from his halls."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Are you really? Then shall we see you more often in Tirion?"

I sighed. Sometimes Finarfin could act like such a child. I could think of nothing to say to him. He did not feel what I felt. He could never understand my pain. He had never lost his mother to death, not his father to a second bride and her children.

"How have you been?" I asked quickly, not because I felt any concern for him, but because I was avoiding his question. It was a terrible mistake. After telling me how wonderfully he was doing, he thanked me profusely for asking and went on to tell me in detail every significant or insignificant event that had occurred in Tirion since I had left. I found my mind and my eyes wondering. They came across the maiden I had pulled up earlier, Finarfin's daughter, Artanis. She was locked arm in arm with Angrod and Aegnor as they danced her across the floor. She was laughing and this is what had caught my attention. She had a lovely laugh; wild and free like bells playing in a windstorm. She was as tall as her brothers, taller than any elleth I had ever seen before, and she was strong. Her muscles rippled under her skin. She had the grace of her mother's kin, the Teleri, and she swayed like a wave on the sea. Her hair rose and fell with her. It shone like burnished gold touched with silver in the light of the chandelier above her, and suddenly I felt a burning desire to touch it again. Never had I seen a thing so beautiful. I felt my fingers tingle. I gripped the sides of my chair to stop them.

"Feanor," Finarfin said "Is something wrong?"

"No," I said calmly, turning to him with a smile. I released the sides of my chair and straightened my back. I hoped that Atar would return soon.

"Are you certain?"

"Quite," I said coldly. I looked about me for Nerdanel and found that she was walking across the room towards me. I stood up and held out my hand to her. She received it with a smile, and I drew her to my side, letting her calm envelope me. She gazed up at me with puzzlement in her clear grey eyes. I kissed them, and wished with my whole heart that we were alone. With a contented sigh she leaned up against me and I held her for a moment till Atar returned.


	16. Finrod

Finrod

Amid the mirth of the evening there was a strain. Something hung heavy in the air, something I could not fathom. Gliding my fingers across the strings of my harp, I watched the dancers, who hurried by caught in a mad frenzy brought on by wine and music. Maglor stood beside me, caught in the enchantment of his song, not seeing what went on about him, not really there but lost in a world of his own, a world wrought only with music, endless music. I wanted to join him, to forget every trouble that could possess, and yet I could not. Something important was going to happen tonight, something that would change us forever.

All about me, I could see smiles. I could hear laughter. Maglor's voice was rising, becoming quicker, louder. It seemed to shake the palace, as if Tirion itself was dancing.

I closed my eyes and let the music pass through me. Its power was incredible, breathtaking. Tears streamed down my face, as my voice rose to meet Maglor's. It seemed piercing and cold, compared to the depth and vigor of Maglor's, but I had to sing. I had to, that was all I knew.

Other voices joined ours. Fingon's voice was filled with joy and strength and daring. Maedhros's was much the same yet tainted slightly with a hint of sorrow. My mother's voice was sad, like the cry of a gull or the waves on the shore. My father's voice was soft, peaceful, and pure like the dawning light of Laurelin. Feänor's voice bore it a stark contrast, being strong, unyielding, sensuous, and filled with fire. Nerdanel's voice could scarcely be heard above it, and yet when heard proved to be the sweeter of the two. Like a piercing dart was Aegnor's voice, and strong and fast was Angrod's. Nerwen's voice was deep and forceful. Aredhel's was high and free. The voice of Fingolfin held within it pride and grief, jealousy and regret, love and hatred. Indis did not sing.

All fell silent when Finwe reentered the room, carrying a small, ornately carved wood box. He walked over to Feänor and placed it in his lap. It seemed as if all eyes were turned in their direction. I put down my harp and watched and listened.

Feänor looked down at the box and then up at his father.

"It is beautiful, Ada," he said with a smile, "I love it."

"Open it," Finwe encouraged.

Feänor looked up at his father curiously, but his father would give him no hint, so Feänor carefully undid the latch and opened the lid.

"Ah, Atar!" cried Feänor, "It is glorious."

He held aloft a necklace of bright rubies and topazes. It was not of the greatest craftsman ship. Feänor could have bested it, without really trying, but I suppose that was not what mattered. It was glorious not because of the skill of the artist but because of the feeling in that man's heart when it was made. The rubies spoke of passion, the topazes of love.

Feänor kissed his father and placed the necklace about his neck, and an awkward filled the chamber.

I got up and creeping steadily against the wall, I walked out into the evening air. A cool breeze stirred through my gold and copper hair, and I was glad of it. I was caught within its movement, and I ran laughing, leaving all worry behind me through the tall grass until I came to a pool for there it was that I was to meet my love, Amarië.


	17. Amrod

Amrod

All right, so we were sitting, that is my twin brother, Amras, and I, were sitting in front of a table overflowing with the best food in Aman, when another brother of mine, Caranthir had this glorious idea that we would better suit his purpose following and spying on Finrod. You see Caranthir does not really like Finrod—do not ask me, I do not know why—, so he takes every opportunity he can find to torment him. Now Caranthir was not happy because Finrod supposedly mocked his father and then left a banquet honoring his father, so he had to pay the price—whatever that might be. Anyway, he must know what has driven Finrod's attention away, so he can see how he should be judged, and he has decided it is us who must find this out. Now neither Amras nor I liked the idea of leaving a half finished dinner, but neither did we wish to evoke the wrath of Caranthir, so we grudgingly complied putting great effort into showing that we were not pleased, hoping that perhaps father would notice, but, no, he was to busy looking at some necklace his father gave him, and that is why Amras and I are sitting in a thicket of thistles and thorns waiting for Finrod to stop staring dreamily at the nearby pool of water and actually do something worth reporting.

I reach through my mind and connect with Amras. Since we are twins this is quite easy for me to do:

/ He is not doing anything. /

/ I know but we should wait around awhile and see if anything happens. /

/ Why cannot we just tell Caranthir that he is crazy? /

/ That never works with him. /

/ Well, he is not the one sitting in the middle of a briar patch. /

/ Raspberries, Amrod, they're raspberries. /

/ Whatever, that does not matter. The point is he is not the one out here. We are, and do you know why? /

/ Because we do not want him to be angry with us. /

/ He has no right to treat us this way! We should make a stand against him. /

/ Here shift a little; you'll be more comfortable. There, now eat some berries and keep quiet. /

/ All right, but I still say that this is not fair. /

Amras rolls his eyes and leans his back against an elm behind him. I try one last complaint.

/ Why must we always listen to everyone? /

/ We are the youngest of a large family. / Amras replies sensibly.

/ Well, I am going to complain to Maedhros…wait, someone is coming. /

A figure, tall and fair with hair the color of honey walks swiftly towards Finrod. The train of her pale cream gown dances in the evening breeze. Her eyes glisten like Varda's stars. Blast, it's Amarië.

"My love," she calls softly. He turns, and his eyes alight like candles, and he smiles.

"Amarië."

He holds out her hand, and she takes it. He pulls her to his side and kisses her gently on the temple. They sit down together on the grass tracing each other's hands with their fingers and gazing tenderly into each other's eyes.

/ Can we go now? / I ask.

/ Not yet, I want to see what they'll do. /

I sigh heavily and eat another handful of the tart raspberries.

Now Finrod reaches his hand up and runs his fingers through Amarië's hair. She strokes his left ear, and they start to talk in low whispers.

"I love you," Finrod says, his eyes wet with feeling.

"As do I."

"You are so beautiful, so lovely, so loved. Amarië, I adore you."

She smiles and lies down upon the grass. Finrod does the same, lying down by her side. They gaze up at the sky together, their hands meeting every so often as they just lie their soaking in love.

"Finrod, tell me, is it right for us to be here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I feel as if there were something else on your mind, some duty perhaps?"

Finrod sighed.

"You always know my mind, don't you, my love? Yes, I suppose I should be attending a banquet celebrating my uncle's return to Tirion."

"Feänor?"

"Yes, who else?"

"I see, and why aren't you?"

"I would rather be here with you."

"Now you make me feel guilty. No, I shall not be the reason for any of your trouble. We should return to Tirion together."

"Do we have to?" Finrod asks rather sulkily and holds her hand tightly.

"I believe that would be the right thing to do."

"Can't we remain here just a few more minutes?"

"I suppose."

"I hate being there."

"Why?"

"I hate the way my uncle treats my father. I hate the way my fathers acts around my uncle. I hate the way my grandfather always puts Feänor above everyone else."

"Finrod, being jealous and bitter never accomplishes anything."

"I know that, Amarië, but it is not just that. Feänor acts like my father committed some sort of crime by just being born. I do not understand it. He acts as if he and Fingolfin are illegitimate and have no right to their own father."

"Feänor has had a troubled life, perhaps he is still angry because Finwe chose another woman after his mother's death."

"That I also know, but I, I wish that sometimes he would try to look at life in another's perspective besides his own."

Amarië nods and falls silent carelessly caressing Finrod's arm. He turns and draws her into his arms holding her against him and playfully kissing her white neck. She laughs but pulls away and draws him to his feet half holding him against her as he regains his balance.

/ Can we go now? / I ask.

/ No, we must wait now for them to go first, otherwise they will spot us. /

Finrod and Amarië continue to look into the depths of each other's eyes, then he leans forward. No, I think, please don't kiss her. I begin wishing that she would fall backwards into the pool just behind her. Finrod kisses her. I look away disgusted and see Amras watching with amusement. I grab his arm and drag him back towards Tirion not caring if the two lovers see us or not. Amras struggles a little but then gives up and we reenter the palace about the same time as Aulë.


	18. Anaire

Anairë

I feel the muscles of my body tense as Fëanor glides across the floor towards us. My husband forces down another glass of wine and waits for Fëanor to start the inevitable conversation. Fëanor looks the two of us over, carefully scrutinizing us with his piercing eyes.

"Good evening, Fingolfin," he says with a sardonic smile, "Good evening, Anairë."

"Good evening, Fëanor," Fingolfin says with a slight bow of his head.

"Good evening," I say.

Fëanor leans casually against the wall next to us, and, glancing across the room at the faces of our kin, he yawns. Fingolfin sighs and looks like he may walk away, but it at this moment that Fëanor decides to ask him a question.

"So, how have you been?" Fëanor asks, not looking at his brother but instead frowning at a small scuff that is near the bottom of his shoe.

"I have been all right, and you?" Fingolfin answers.

"Oh, very well," says Fëanor looking up with a smile. Fingolfin looks uncomfortable.

"That's good," I say quickly.

"Is it?" he says pointedly.

"Yes," I say.

He looks amused. Fingolfin looks even more uncomfortable.

"I see, well, my whole family has been doing fine. Look at my sons aren't they fine? So tall and handsome."

Fingolfin can't do anything but agree as he looks over Fëanor's offspring.

"Of course, your Aredhel has grown into quite a beauty, how old is she now?"

"She's thirty-nine," I inform him, leaning against the wall behind me and crossing my ankles, so far, so good, but who knows where the conversation could go next.

"Yes, and Artanis, she was born in the same year, wasn't she?" Fëanor asks, still looking bored.

"Yes," Fingolfin informs him, "she was."

Fëanor nods and looks around for an excuse to leave. His eyes glare hotly at Nerdanel as he sees that she is again talking to Indis. Finarfin walks over to us carrying a tray of pastries, which he offers to us with a charming smile. Fingolfin and I both take one and thank him. Fëanor hesitates for a moment still staring at Nerdanel before taking one as well. Fëanor studies Finarfin's face as he slowly tears apart and eats the dessert. Finarfin tries his best to appear amiable.

"I suppose your daughter shall marry soon," Fëanor says calmly.

Finarfin looks worried.

"No, no," he says, "she is still quite young. She needs more time to grow."

"I was younger than her when I married," Fëanor says coolly.

"But you are different. You grew fast. She is still a child," Finarfin protests.

"No, she is not," Fëanor says, "she is a maiden and a beautiful one at that."

Finarfin is looking desperate.

"Finrod hasn't even married yet," he says finally, satisfied that he has brought the conversation to an end, but Fëanor is not done tormenting him yet.

"Oh, but she is much different than Finrod," Fëanor says with a smile, "I can sense it. When she meets the man she wants there will be not this overlong hesitation, I note in your son, but if she doesn't marry soon I have a terrible feeling that Tirion will be overrun with suitors."

Fëanor bites into another pastry with a contented smile.

"Your grandson certainly seems to have taken a fancy to her," I say.

His eyes fall on me, as if he had not until then realized I exist, which is very strange because he had just spent about two minutes examining me earlier. Perhaps he has forgotten that I could speak or maybe he is startled with what I have said, with Fëanor it is hard to tell. I half gesture to Celebrimbor who has just asked Nerwen to dance and is now walking her cautiously across the marble floor. We watch the pair of them for a moment as they steadily rise in speed and confidence. Since Nerwen is a head taller than Celebrimbor, she takes the leading part. I wonder if the girl will ever stop growing. Celebrimbor is a few years younger than her, but still, if she keeps this up, soon she will be looking down at her father.

"Aren't they a lovely pair?" a voice whispers to my left. I turn to see Nerdanel. Her face is a strange mix of joy and envy. I uncross my ankle and take a step nearer to her. She smiles.

"He looks quite a lot like Fëanor did at his age," she says to me, "Though he inherits some of his mother's softness. He does not have the eyes of Fëanor, or the nose, but look at those lips, who else's could they be? And the chin and cheekbones, definitely Fëanorian."

She does not exactly say this to me, though she would not have said it if I had not been there. I nod my head, and she keeps on staring at the young couple as they swirl in never ending loops before us.

Fëanor's eyes watch them closely, as if he were waiting for something to happen. I am not quite sure what, but I do not quite like how closely he follows their moves, as if he were looking hard for something, some fault, perhaps. But no, their moves are not flawless, and still he makes no comment.


	19. Orodreth

Orodreth

I am sure that I am dullest person in all Ea. My brothers and cousins are all so much cleverer than I am, with their jests and riddles and fine ways of phrasing things. I feel very small and insignificant, sitting here near Fëanor's sons. They are all so strong and tall and quite a deal older than I am, and there is a certain boisterousness and confidence in their voices that my frail, faltering voice will never attain. Right now, Celegorm is telling a story of one of his many hunting trips, and Curufin keeps interrupting him to tell him something he left out or correct some error in what he has said. Caranthir sits to my left, and now he turns to me and whispers:

"You look lovely tonight. White suits you well."

"Thank you," I say rather confused. I wonder why Caranthir is complimenting me. Maybe he is drunk.

"It is a shame that your brother left so early. He is such a wonderful harpist."

"Left?" I ask confused, looking around for Finrod, who has disappeared.

"Yes," Caranthir continues, "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?'

"No," I shake my head, 'none."

"It was not very polite of him to just slip off like that."

"No, no, it wasn't. Maybe he just went out for some air."

I look hopefully towards the door then notice that Ambarussa are also missing.

"Where's Ambarussa?"

"I sent them to look for Finrod."

Curufin looks at Caranthir as if he were out of his mind to admit this to me, before resuming his task of Celegorm's interrupter,

"You know," says Caranthir, "You of the Golden House of Finarfin think that you are so great, just because you have so much royal blood. You have got ties with Ingwe, Olwë. But, the way I see it is that you are tainted."

"Tainted?" I say in surprise.

"Yes, your Noldor blood is weakened by the Vanyar and Teleri, that is why you are not as strong and masterful, as us Fëanorians."

"Oh," I say, not knowing what else to say.

"You," he says, tugging cruelly at my pale hair with his dark fingers, "Are so small and frail…"

"Why don't you leave him alone?" Celegorm asks rather annoyed. I look gratefully at him, but he has already gone back to his tale.

"I bet you wish you were as strong and intelligent as I," Caranthir says.

I nod. I do not wish to quarrel with him. Caranthir lowers his voice to whisper as he puts his mouth close to my ear.

"Sometimes I wonder," he says, "whether your parents did not get you and your sister somehow mixed up."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well," says Caranthir with a glint of evil in his dark eyes, "It seems as if she is the one growing into a man, while you are looking everyday more like a maiden."

He is watching my face closely, waiting for my reaction. He gets one, as my cheeks grow suddenly hot. I stare quickly down at my plate. Caranthir chuckles, but his laughter turns suddenly into a cry of pain. I turn to see Angrod holding him up by his hair. Aegnor is standing by as well, his eyes burning like flame, his hair on end in anger.

"I will not have you talk to my brother that way," Angrod says coldly, his fingers moving nearer to Caranthir's scalp.

"I can say what I wish," Caranthir groans.

"Oh, really?" Angrod says angrily and jerks his hair harder.

Caranthir doesn't answer. He instead uses his strength to break free of Angrod's grasp and hurl him to the floor. Long, dark strands still remain in my brother's hand. Caranthir places his foot on Angrod's chest, but Aegnor gets him off with a few furious punches. Caranthir is soon sprawled out on the ground, but he does not seem very worried. He turns a sneering face towards me.

"So you just stand by and let your little brothers protect…" he says provokingly.

Aegnor punches him in the mouth.

"Please," I say; my voice sounds so small, "It is not good to fight. Atar will be upset."

Curufin and Celegorm meanwhile have jumped to their brother's aid, prying my brothers off him. Ugly words and heavy fists fly so fast between them that I cannot make it all out. I feel so ashamed that they are fighting because of me. I wish they would stop, but they will not listen.

I am relieved to see Fingon and Maedhros come rushing up.

"That is enough," Fingon says sternly, pulling my brothers out of the fight. Angrod and Aegnor seethe but remain still. They have great respect for Fingon.

Maedhros somehow manages to control his fierce brothers. The two opposing sides glare hotly at each other from across the table, which Fingon and Maedhros have so wisely put between them.

"How did this start?" Maedhros asks crossly.

"Caranthir said that my brother was a maiden," Angrod seethes.

"No," Caranthir objects, "I did not say he _was_ a maiden. I said he _looked_ like one."

Fingon groans. Fëanor and Atar come walking over. I shrink lower in my seat and pretend to be invisible.

"What's going on?" Fëanor snaps.

"Just a little disturbance," Maedhros says looking anxiously over at Nerdanel, who walks over and places a hand on her husband's arm.

"They attacked me," Caranthir says, indicating to Angrod and Aegnor.

"It wasn't unprovoked," Fingon says quietly.

"No, of course, not," says Fëanor, sarcasm thick in his hot voice.

"Please," I say, "It was nothing. Caranthir was just trying to make me angry."

All eyes fixed on me, and I wished I had remained silent.

"Why would he want to do that?" Atar asks.

"I don't know," I say softly.

"Caranthir?" Fëanor says, looking sternly at his son, piercing through his skin with flame like eyes, searching for an explanation.

Caranthir looks down.

"I don't know," he mumbles.

I sit there wishing he would give an explanation. My hands finger the pearl bracelet on my wrist. Celegorm reaches over the table and places his hand on my shoulder.

"Cheer up, cousin," he says gently. I look up at him and smile. He holds out his hand to Angrod. Angrod looks at hesitantly.

"I hold no grudge against you," he says, "It's Caranthir who angered me. I want some sort of explanation."

Caranthir glowers at him.

I look pleadingly at my brother. Why couldn't he just let it slip by? Fëanor looks closely at his fourth son.

"Well, Caranthir?"

Caranthir shakes his head and pulls away from us walking over to a corner to sulk. Fëanor follows him there and starts talking to him in low but harsh whispers

Atar looks at his two younger sons. Atar never gets angry with us, but he has this way of looking like his heart might break because of something we did; that is even worse. He is looking like this now. His blue eyes wet with tears, his lip trembling slightly, though he makes no noise at all, just stares at us like this.

"I am sorry, Atar," Angrod says half convincingly. I know that he is only upset for causing Atar pain, not for fighting.

Aegnor shoots Caranthir one last glare then shrugs his shoulders.

"Sorry, Atar," he says.

Atar smiles. Fingon and Maedhros move back to their corner and resume their conversation. Everything seems to have gone back to normal. And then I spot him walking in with Ambarussa at his heels, the Vala, Aulë. He looks different tonight. Usually, a bright smile expands across his broad face, but tonight shadows hangs beneath his warm brown eyes.

The room has suddenly grown quiet in reverence to the great smith. All stand silently as Aulë walks without a word to the front of the room. I grow worried, why doesn't he say something? He usually has so much to say, to teach us in a rapturous tones of delight, but he is so still, so grave. He walks with slow, dragging steps, his head bent.

No one speaks. No one breaks the ominous silence. Fëanor lifts his head a moment and opens his mouth, but it falls shut without a sound. We are all afraid.

Aulë raises his head and looks for a moment at our solemn faces, and finally he speaks:

"I bring thee grave tidings."


	20. Celegorm

**Sorry, for not writing in so long, been really busy with school, hope you enjoy!**

Celegorm

We all stared at Aulë, waiting, waiting. Why did he hesitate? It seemed an eternity since he last spoke. What news could be so dreadful that he should be unwilling to tell us? He, who told us everything. I had always thought that Valinor was place of safety, away from hurt and trouble, so I had been told since my youth, but now, now, we felt fear; we saw it in Aulë's eyes. Even my father said nothing. My fingers slipped to the hilt of the hunting knife, I had forgotten to take off my belt. Aredhel, who was standing by me, reached over and took my hand. I squeezed her fingers gently. They shook slightly in my grasp, so I held them tighter. I wished for words of comfort but knew not what to comfort her for. Why would not Aulë speak?

"I bring you grave tidings," Aulë said again, this time more softly, as if to lull us into a sense of safety. I gripped the hilt of my knife harder, standing straighter and lifting my eyes to meet the Vala's.

"Why not tell us then," I demanded. Aredhel looked at me with wide eyes, evidently shocked by my rudeness or courage, but I had not meant to be rude or brave for that matter. I just needed to know, know what it was we had to deal with.

But Aulë merely bowed his head.

"Melkor, has been released," he said solemnly.

We all stood there in stunned silence. Melkor the marrer, Melkor the deceiver, the one who caused all the troubles of old he had been released? Why? I remembered when I was child; how I had played I was Oremë or Tulkas making war on Melkor. My brothers and I used to play the seven Valar, and we would fight and capture our designated Melkor, but it had all been a game caught up from the stories that father or grandfather, Finwë, used to tell us. I had not realized till today how real Melkor was.

"Why has this come to pass? By whose folly, has this deed been achieved?" my father said angrily, but his voice cracked at the end, and his proud head fell.

Aulë shook his head.

"It was decreed by Manwë, partly due to the pleadings of Nienna, and against the counsel of Ulmo," he told us quietly, "For now he is being kept under watch in Valimar, but I thought you should be warned."

Finwë sighed and nodded.

"Thank you, Lord Aulë," he said with sadness in his eyes.

Lord Aulë bowed and left. The room exploded in an uproar.


	21. Caranthir

Caranthir

I taste fear as it folds over me, lost in the shadows where my father left me. Now he stands in the room's center his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes glowering like some demon I have seen in dreams, his tongue twisting without reason behind teeth. No, no, that is not true. He does speak, I just cannot hear. The whole room seems to be bearing in on me. I reach out my hand to cling to someone, but no one is left without a companion but me. I fold my arms and slip away. I can hear my father now. His curses burst forth without restraint. Mother runs to him and flings her arms about his neck. I can see there bodies twine as they fall, and everything seems lost.

How could they do it? How could they let Melkor go? But they had never promised they would hold him forever, and perhaps, perhaps he has changed…a dull hope, but one worth holding on to…I do not know why. Suddenly, I feel a hand grope my shoulder. I turn to see Maglor, and at once I am in his arms, and somehow he assures me that all will be fine.


	22. Aegnor

Aegnor

After a while the shouting gives way. Feänor is tangled in Nerdanel's arms, and he is crying. For the first time in my life, I feel sorry for him. This pillar of strength and tyranny is panting out of breath on his wife's shoulder. I wonder why. Yes, it's awful that Melkor has been released, but what good does crying do?

Then I see the rubies and topazes scattered on the marble floor. The necklace Finwë gave Feänor has broken in the frenzy. Feänor bends to pick up the pieces. Nerdanel joins him on the floor. Crawling, they look like infants or animals. I find myself laughing, though I don't know why. My mother shoots me a warning look. I pretend to be choking on my wine.

Fingolfin is also on his knees now, getting the rubies out of the cracks near the wall. Feänor looks angry then confused then grateful, as Fingolfin places them in his open hands.

"Thank you," Feänor says.

Fingolfin nods in answer.

"We're the House of Finwë," he says. "We'll get by."

Finis 


End file.
